


Let Me Know

by MooseFeels



Series: Commissions [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Hair, Insecurity, Living Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23986948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: Yuuri's hair is growing out.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: Commissions [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733704
Comments: 9
Kudos: 137





	Let Me Know

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Haro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haro/gifts).



> This was a commission for Haro (@accioharo on twitter), written in exchange for a donation to the Navajo & Hopi Families COVID-19 Relief Fund.

Yuuri’s hair is dark-- blue-black like the sea in the middle of the night. Viktor considers this, laying in bed, holding him close, eyes resting on the crown of his head. 

Viktor loves Yuuri all the time. Viktor loves Yuuri on the ice, bright and brilliant and expressive. Viktor loves Yuuri in the grocery store, reading the back of a box intently. Viktor loves Yuuri in restaurants, in airports, in train cars and dance studios. Viktor loves Yuuri in all places he finds him, but he thinks he loves Yuuri best like this, pulled up close to his chest, as near to his breastbone as his own heart. 

His own heart. His darling Yuuri. What's the difference, really? 

Viktor curls a little closer, to lay a kiss gently on the crown of his head, to close his eyes and feel him captured within his hungry arms. 

Yuuri shifts, contained in Viktor's arms. He wriggles and turns, his eyes squinting into the early morning light, his bangs falling into his eyes. 

"Good morning," Viktor says. 

Yuuri curls in closer-- Viktor turns from his side onto his back and Yuuri threads an arm underneath him and lays his head against Viktor's chest. Viktor smiles. Reaches and threads his fingers through Yuuri's beautiful, dark hair. 

Viktor's not sure how long they lay like that, content to watch the sunlight trace slowly across the floor and cards his hands through Yuuri's hair. It's Sunday morning, a day off. After a while though, Yuuri murmurs, "I know, I know-- I should get it cut."

Viktor hums. "Should you?" he asks.

Yuuri snorts. "I'd look ridiculous," he says. "I tried in college, in the off season. My hair's not like yours--"

Viktor laughs-- less laughs and more a startled breath wriggles out of his mouth. "Yuuri,  _ my _ hair's not even like that. It's all styling."

"Still," Yuuri says. "I should see a barber."

"Mmm," Viktor answers. "Breakfast first?"

Yuuri pulls his arm out from under Viktor and sits up, stretching. Viktor can see from this angle his back, his shoulders, his arms. His hair growing longer, to the nape of his neck now. "A shower first," Yuuri answers. He gets up from the bed and walks to the bathroom-- to their bathroom. Their bathroom that they share together, in this apartment, where they make and share their life. 

"I'll join you," Viktor says, disentangling himself from the sheets, following him. 

Yuuri pulls off his underwear, his shirt and tosses them into the hamper. He steps into the shower and shivers a little under the cool spray. Viktor pulls himself into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind himself.

Yuuri sighs, as the water warms. He pumps facewash into his hands as Viktor ducks under the spray, wetting his hair, washing his armpits, his shoulders his chest. 

Viktor swallows, dryly. 

"Can I wash it?" He asks. 

Yuuri rinses his face and blinks under the water. "What?" he asks. His voice sounds close in the shower, the running water, the tile bouncing sound oddly. 

"Your hair," he says. "Can I wash your hair?"

Viktor knows Yuuri would blush, if he weren't already under the hot water. He knows him so well at this point, so well but there are still--

They're so close, but they're both still learning each other. Viktor moves fast and Yuuri moves like someone who's been hurt before. 

Yuuri's been hurt before. Viktor would do anything, not to be another one who hurts him. 

Yuuri, under the spray of the shower, nods. 

Viktor pumps shampoo into his palm. Not the kind Yuuri uses-- the drugstore shampoo that smells like a field of strawberries. Viktor pumps his own shampoo into his palm. The department store kind, that smells like nothing. 

He lathers it in his palm with his two fingers, and then looks up at Yuuri. He backs up, against the back wall of the stall. He smiles. "Turn around," he says, quietly. "Step out of the spray."

Yuuri nods, and turns slowly.

Viktor washes Yuuri's hair methodically, pulling the strands through his fingers, working the shampoo through it. He focuses on the roots, on Yuuri's scalp. Counts the seconds under his breath, the way he does for his own hair, to count two minutes through. He works around the sweet, curved shell of Yuuri's ears and to the base of his skull, the hollow there where it connects to his neck, his spine. 

"Step back into the spray," Viktor murmurs. 

Yuuri steps forward, head tilted up. The shampoo melts out, and Viktor reaches forward and works the water through his hair. Starts to count in his head to five minutes, rubbing against his scalp, rolling the locks of his hair through his fingers. 

Yuuri sighs, just a little. Hardly loud enough for Viktor to hear. 

Viktor lets his hands slide through Yuuri's hair, down his neck, over his shoulders. Pulls him close to him. 

Takes a deep breath, holds it for just a moment. 

"Okay," Viktor says. "Now conditioner."

Eventually, they clamber out of the shower and into clothes. Yuuri runs his comb through his hair and then pushes it back, out of his eyes. 

"Let me dry it," Viktor says, running a towel through his own hair. 

Yuuri pauses, for just a moment. Looks in the mirror from himself to Viktor's own eyes. 

The color returns to his cheeks. Viktor watches as carefully, slowly, Yuuri presses his lips together. Bites them, just a little. 

"Okay," he says. 

The hair dryer is in the back of his closet. Viktor fishes it out and plugs it in. He pulls his round brush from his vanity, gets it close to Yuuri's roots, pulls his hair away from his face, watches it go from wet to glossy and shiny. Feels it go soft in his hands. 

The bathroom echoes as Viktor turns off the hair dryer. 

Yuuri looks at himself in the mirror. 

Viktor's pleased with his handiwork. His hair doesn't look shaggy-- it looks soft and long, falling just below Yuuri's ears where Viktor has pulled it back, out of his face. It curls at the nape of his neck. 

"So dashing," Viktor murmurs, smiling at his handiwork.

Yuuri turns around. His hands clutch the counter behind him. His eyes are closed tight. "Please don't make fun of me," he says, his voice very small. 

Viktor feels his heart plummet. "No," he says, shaking his head. "No, Yuuri-- I--" He takes a breath to lay the words out in front of himself carefully, before he says them. "You misunderstand me." He reaches carefully out, to tangle his hands into Yuuri's. "I think you are...I look at you, and I see you and I wish...Yuuri, I wish more than anything I could give you my eyes, for you to see yourself. You are so beautiful."

He strokes across Yuuri's knuckles. There's barely inches between them. 

"I hate that you compare yourself to me," he says. 

"No, Viktor," Yuuri says, looking up suddenly into Viktor's eyes. 

"My beauty is an invention, Yuuri," he interrupts. He swallows. 

God, this is hard. 

"It's just another performance, and it has its own coaches and trainings and practices," he continues. "If I were just Viktor Nikiforov, fisherman's son, I wouldn't be beautiful. I wouldn't have the gel for the bags around my eyes or the botox above my eyebrow and I wouldn't have the highlights for my hair. I would be just another kind of pasty man, with dirty blonde hair and crooked teeth. My beauty, it's all work. To be beautiful, for me, it requires all six steps of my skincare routine and a lot of very expensive orthodonture."

Yuuri's eyes are sad, where Viktor meets his gaze. 

"I would never joke about such things," Viktor says. "I love you too much to want to hurt you. I just want you to see...Yuuri, I am only beautiful through work. You are so beautiful, all on your own. And with-- with just a little shampoo and five minutes blow drying-- ah, Yuuri! You glimmer. I want you to see. I thought maybe..." He swallows. His throat is tight. 

"You know I love you Vitya, right?" Yuuri says, his voice very soft. "I love you even though you're an ugly crier and you sleep with your mouth open."

Viktor laughs. 

"I know," he says. He takes a deep breath. "I would wash your hair every day, if you would let me. Even if you let it grow long down your back, I'd wash it and dry it. I'd do anything, for you to see yourself how I see you."

Yuuri leans forward and rests his forehead against Viktor's. 

"I think sometimes, you are not very kind to yourself," Yuuri whispers. 

Viktor feels a smile curl over his teeth, feeling silly. "Oho, Yuuri. I think maybe you also are not very kind to yourself."

Yuuri smiles, too. 

"And I think you would look very beautiful, in a high ponytail on a podium with a gold medal," he says. 

Yuuri laughs. 

"Maybe," he answers. 


End file.
